Hope Was Here
by CryOnMyShoulder
Summary: A disease could ruin a relationship and possible take a life. Will Luka be able to keep Abby together? 100 Luby fic. R
1. Default Chapter

Hope Was Here- Part 1: Echo of Tears  
By Kelly  
  
Disclaimer: ER and all of its characters are the property of NBC, Warner Brothers and everyone else involved with the show. I don't own them, and I don't make any money.  
  
Feedback is appreciated: DougandCarol@hotmail.com   
  
Notes: This is the first part of a new series. I'm warning you, it's angsty and it will take me awhile to get everything sorted out. Hopefully I'll have a new part every few days, but if I don't, don't worry. I'll post more eventually.  
  
Thanks: To Carolina and Abilene who gave me the titles for this story!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The rain is so comforting sometimes I wonder often why so many people hate it. Watching it fall, and listening to it as it hits up against the windows or the sidewalk, it makes me feel secure. I guess it is good that I like it, because it rains a lot here in Chicago. Especially during the springtime, like it is now.   
  
Abby likes the rain too, maybe even more than I like it. But she is like that. She told me one night, while we were in bed how she likes dark and sad. It seems that in bed we can reveal our deepest secrets, fears and wishes. It has always been like that for us, even now, two years into our relationship it remains the same.   
  
Two years. We have been through a lot in these two years, but it has gotten so much better. Abby trusts me; I love knowing she finally feels that way. It took so long for her to be able to talk to me, and let me know everything that had always bothered her. I love her; I have felt this way for a long time. For a long time I was not sure if she loved me, but she finally told me she did, and once she had, I knew we would be ok.   
  
"Luka, are you ready?"  
  
"Just let me finish this." I reply, looking down to the chart in my hand. Looking over the last of the nurse's notes, I sign the last of what I need to before grabbing my jacket. Smiling at Abby, I wait for her to leave first before following, quickly dropping the chart into the discharge pile.  
  
"Goodnight Dr. Kovac. Night Abby." Jing-Mei calls from behind the admit desk where she's talking to Carter.   
  
Quietly nodding, I wave my hand as we leave, pushing through the ambulance bay doors into the cool April air. As we begin walking, I take Abby's hand into my own and hold it close to my left thigh as I let out a large puff of air. Walking down the sidewalk, we pass lots of stores and people who are attempting to keep dry while in the rain. Thankfully Abby remembered to bring an umbrella to work today or we would both be soaked.   
  
"Are you hungry?" I ask, as we come closer to our favorite Thai restaurant. Pulling her toward the doorway, I take the umbrella from her hand and try to close it, holding it by my side.  
  
"Ow." She mumbles, as I hit into her arm, moving closer into the doorway. Looking down to her, I turn and drop the umbrella in a stand set up nearby.  
  
"Are you ok?" I ask, as I watch her rub her arm with her other hand.   
  
"Yeah." She replies, smiling up at me. "I just got a shock."   
  
Eyeing her oddly, I only smile and give our name to the hostess who writes it down in a piece of paper and tells me to wait by the window. Looking out into the restaurant, I see no reason why we need to wait, there are only two other couples seated inside.   
  
"What did Dr. Greene want to talk with you about earlier?" I ask curiously, remembering how he had pulled her from the trauma room after a stabbing victim had been brought in.   
  
Looking up to me and peeling her coat off, Abby only gives me a blank stare as I talk. She must not remember, because it takes her awhile to reply.   
  
"Oh, he was just asking me about Med School. He told me that if I was planning to go back I'd need to submit my application soon."  
  
"What did you say?" I ask. I know it has been almost three years now since Abby began nursing full time again, but I know that she wants to go back.   
  
"I told him I didn't know." She replies, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know if I want to go back."  
  
"You would still be a great doctor Abby." I tell her with a smile as I watch her shift uncomfortably.  
  
"Maybe." She tells me again, and she stretches her arm out. "We'll see."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
"Are you ok?"  
  
Looking across the table at her, she is yawning again. Her elbows are propping her up, as she holds her head in her hands. Looking down at the menu, she closes her eyes and yawns again, pulling herself back as the waiter appears.   
  
"Do you know what you want?" I ask, looking down to my own menu as I reach for my glass of water.   
  
"Tonight's specials are the spicy chicken paradise with a side of rice, and a new soup called tom ka kai. " the waiter tells us, tapping his pen on his pad of paper. "I personally would recommend the chicken."   
  
Looking back to her, she has her head buried in her hands, staring down at the menu in front of her. Looking up to the waiter who looks as if he is waiting impatiently, I playfully kick her ankle under the table and grin at her. Looking back up at me, I see the smile across her face as she laughs and pulls her head up.   
  
"I will have the sautéed sliced flank steak with rice." I order, looking back quickly over the menu.  
  
"I'll have..." she mumbles, folding the menu. "I'll have that spicy chicken thing you mentioned." She tells the waiter, who nods and takes the menu's from us.   
  
"Are you still tired?" I ask, as I watch her sip from her glass of water, yawning again.   
  
"A little." She replies, shaking her head. "I just had a long day."  
  
Nodding, I reach across the table and begin playing with her hand, pushing my fingers between hers. Fumbling with a ring I bought her for Christmas last year, she laughs as I begin twisting it, playing with her finger.   
  
I know something is wrong, she hasn't been acting right lately. The way she has been walking, the way her appetite has slowly disappeared and the way she is always tired. Last weekend, we had two whole days off where we only stayed home and watched movies. I thought that maybe it would give her time to rest, but she was still as tired when we returned to work on Tuesday.   
  
I think that I worry too much sometimes though. She tells me that I do, but I only worry because I care about her. It would be wrong not to worry, if I didn't worry something would happen, it always does.  
  
"I had this patient today," she begins as she pushes her silverware out of the way. "She was fourteen and decided she needed to prove she was cool enough to fit in with some of her friends at school, so she tried piercing her own eyebrow with a safety pin."  
  
Raising my eyebrow, I only start laughing as she continues to tell me that after doing the one eyebrow, she decided to do her nose as well, only the pin got stuck in her nose. By the time she finishes telling the story, she is laughing as well, only making me happier.   
  
I love watching her laugh, watching her face light up as she smiles. She deserves the happiness she says she has now; I know her life has not always been so easy. I have seen her mom, I have talked with her ex-husband, neither of them are very easy to deal with.   
  
By the time our food arrives, we are both quiet again. Abby looks exhausted and ready to fall asleep in her plate of food. She is playing with the food, only moving her fork around on the plate, pushing it from one side to the other.   
  
"Is everything ok?" the waiter asks, returning with a pitcher of water, refilling our glasses.   
  
"Everything's great." Abby replies, looking up to him, before pushing her plate of food away. "I'm just not hungry." She explains to me, dropping her napkin in front of her.   
  
"Abby, are you alright?" I ask, growing more concerned. She has lost a lot of weight lately, on top of everything else. She hasn't been eating, she is always tired, and she was running a high fever last week with vomiting.   
  
"I'm fine, I'm just not hungry." She replies. "I just need to get a good nights sleep, then I'll be ok."   
  
"But you sleep all of the time, and you are still not ok." I protest, losing my own appetite. "I am a doctor Abby, something is wrong. We both know that. You should see a doctor."  
  
"I don't need a doctor to tell me that I'm tired."  
  
"You aren't just tired!" I reply, dropping my fork. "Can I just bring you to the hospital, we can have somebody look at you, just make sure you are ok."   
  
"I don't want to go to the hospital." She replies, pulling her coat on. "Just let me sleep, Luka I promise, I am ok."   
  
Letting a sigh escape, I nod as I pull my own coat on, leaving money on the table to cover the bill and a tip. Getting up, I wrap my arm around her as we leave, walking down the street in the busy Chicago night.  
  
Holding her tightly as we pass various groups of people standing together, I watch her as we walk. The way her dark hair gets caught in the wind and blows around her head, shielding her eyes and face, making it nearly impossible for her to see.   
  
By the time we reach the apartment, I'm surprised I don't have to carry her in my arms upstairs. She is dragging as we reach the door, and she almost collapses as we get inside, and she falls onto the couch without even removing her coat.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The room is spinning and it will not stop. Around and around in front of my eyes, everything is a big blur. I can hear the people around me talking, they are calling my name. I can hear them screaming for me, shouting Abby's name, ordering tests that must be done. I am not here, I cannot be here. This is not happening, I am dreaming, nothing I feel is real. Maybe I am sleeping, I will wake up soon and feel ok. I will wake up with Abby wrapped in my arms, sleeping soundly next to me.   
  
"Luka!" I hear Carter scream again, as the room slowly stops spinning and I can see clearly again. He is standing in front of me, wearing a yellow trauma gown. "Luka, has Abby been sick lately?" he asks, as I peer past him to the trauma room where Abby's body is laying on a gurney.   
  
I knew I should have brought her to see a doctor; she was not right at all. The way she has been tired, and the bruises I found on her arm yesterday when we woke up. It is my fault she passed out, it is all my fault. She is stubborn but I love her, I should have pushed harder for her to see a doctor, this is my fault now.   
  
I can only nod as I slump against the wall and fall to the floor with my knees bent in front of me. Holding my head in my hands, I do not want to think of what is wrong. Abby is sick and I ignored it, I let her tell me there was nothing to worry about. This feeling in my stomach knows that there is something I need to worry about.   
  
"She was sick last week." I manage to say, struggling to form the words with my mouth. "And she has been tired."  
  
"Do you know if she's pregnant?" he asks me, turning back toward the trauma room.   
  
That thought never even crossed my mind. It would fit though, except for the bruises. It is the bruises that scare me; she has a lot of them that she never told me about. Some of them are really big and they must hurt her.   
  
"I don't know." I whisper, looking up at him. "I do not think she is." I say, as Lydia hurries by with a new patient.   
  
"Ok." Is all Carter says as he hurries back to the trauma room where I can see Dr. Weaver checking a monitor.   
  
I am too afraid to even imagine what they think is wrong with Abby. She wouldn't be pregnant; I made her promise me that if she did ever get pregnant she would tell me right away. She would not keep that a secret; I know I can trust her.   
  
It is only an hour before I am in with Abby, holding her hand as she lays on the gurney, staring up into the bright lights above her. The only other person in the room is Chuny who is cleaning up, and stocking the shelves. Dr. Weaver should be back with the test results soon, and I am too scared to think of what they will find.   
  
Looking over to Abby, I lean over her and kiss her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face that has fallen in front of her eyes. Her face is so pale, and with her gown on I can see even more bruises that I had not noticed before. I am very worried about her; just let her be all right.   
  
"Abby?" I hear Kerry call as she enters the room, holding the chart in her hands too tight for my liking. Her face looks tired and she looks distraught, only making me realize her news cannot be good.  
  
I watch as Abby closes her eyes, she must see what I see in Kerry's face. Clasping her hand in mine, I can only sit there as Dr. Weaver delivers news that will hurt us both.   
  
"Luka, I need to talk to Abby alone." She tells me, as she moves closer to the gurney.   
  
"No, he can stay." I hear Abby whisper, as her head drops. "What do they say?" she asks with a sadness in her voice that makes her sound like a person I do not know, that I have never met.  
  
"Alright." She replies, using the tone I have only heard her use when she must deliver bad news to patients. My stomach is now hurting more than ever, and I can only imagine how Abby must be feeling. "Abby, we did a blood count and your white blood cell count was abnormally high.." she tells us, only confirming my fears.   
  
"What was it?" she asks, as the waiver in her voice becomes apparent to me and I can only hold her tighter.   
  
"It was 5000." She replies, looking to both of us. "I'm sorry." She tells us, moving closer. "I spoke with oncology and Dr. Hanks, he is going to come down in a few minutes."  
  
Oncology. I hate that word, I hate that ward. I do not believe this, Abby cannot be this sick. She had the flu, she was tired. She passed out, that does not mean she has cancer.   
  
"I have leukemia?" Abby whispers, looking down at the sheet that covers her.   
  
"We don't know that yet." Kerry tells her. "You'll need a bone marrow biopsy, but we can't say anything for sure yet." She tries to tell us, though right now I know neither of us are listening.   
  
How can this be happening? This is not happening, I am dreaming, like I was before. I will wake up, we will be at home. Abby will be healthy, I will not need to worry. This is a dream.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
How can this be happening? What did Abby do to ever deserve what is happening to her? Just standing outside of the hospital room makes me want to break down. I work in this hospital, I come here everyday but right now I cannot stand the smell. It smells like a… it smells like a hospital and it is making me sick.   
  
Nothing seems the same; it was all very different only yesterday. Yesterday Abby was tired, today she might have cancer. Nothing in the whole world is fair; I learned that a long time ago.   
  
"You can come in now."  
  
Looking up from my seat across the hallway, I manage to get to my feet and walk across to the room where the nurse has just called me to. Stepping inside, I look to Abby who is on her stomach, covered with drapes and surrounded by machines. Her head is turned, facing the opposite wall, looking away from me.  
  
"Abby?" I call quietly, walking toward her.   
  
I'm dressed in scrubs now, along with a surgical gown they told me I must wear. I do not understand why though. When we do taps down in the ER we never wear them, but it must be different up here. Reaching the table, I stand in front of her, leaning over to kiss her.   
  
"I am here." I whisper softly, kneeling to become eye level with her. Nearby, I see two nurses busy setting instruments up, preparing for the doctor who will be here soon.  
  
"What did they say?" she asks nervously, trying to put on a brave face. She turns her head, moving so she is resting and her arms are out in front of her.   
  
"They will be here soon." I reply, kissing her forehead. "It will be ok." I lie, knowing nothing is ok. Nothing is ever ok. I am a doctor, Abby is a nurse, and we both know doctors do not do biopsies for nothing, especially bone marrow biopsies.   
  
I want to take her place, take the pain for her. Things were not supposed to happen this way. We were supposed to be happy now, the trouble was supposed to be over. We were both happy, we were in love. Everything was supposed to get better now; it was not suppose to get bad again.  
  
Cancer does not happen to us, I see people with cancer at work. Abby isn't suppose to have cancer, neither of us is. I treat people with cancer, I diagnose cancer in other people, not Abby.   
  
The doctor comes in and puts his gown on over his scrubs, talking to the nurses as he prepares Abby's back. Watching as he administers the anesthesia, I hold Abby's hand, watching as he injects the solution, that we all know will not aid in easing the pain.   
  
"It is ok." I assure her as he finishes and we wait for it to take effect. Looking down to her, she has her eyes closed and is chewing on her lip. "I love you." I whisper quietly, watching as the doctor nods.   
  
"We're going to start now, you'll feel pressure." He announces as I watch his right hand reach for the needle. Holding onto Abby's hands tightly, I take a breath and look into her eyes, trying to keep her calm.   
  
Watching the needle inch closer to her skin, my stomach begins to hurt even more than it has and I want to rip it from his hands. This is not happening, I am dreaming. Abby is not sick, we are both ok, we are happy. There is no possibility of cancer; there will be no chemotherapy, no radiation. There will be no more sickness, everything will be ok again.   
  
"Luka." She cries as the needle penetrates her skin, and the tears escape her eyes. Her grip tightens on my hands and her nails begin digging into my skin, holding to me tighter and tighter. "Luka." She whispers, as the tears begin to fall from her eyes, splashing onto my hands.   
  
"Good Abby." I comfort her, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "You are doing great, he will be finished soon."  
  
She begins to shake and I watch the doctor's face grow stern as he pulls the needle out, ready to insert another. Handing the first to one of the nurses, he nods before poking her again, causing her to cry out again in pain as the shaking grows worse.   
  
"Abby, you need to try and stay still." He says, pressing firmly on her back.   
  
"Abby, it will be over soon. Look at me Abby." I instruct her softly, as her eyes open and meet mine. "Good, think of good things Abby." I instruct her, as she squeezes my hands tighter.   
  
"I can't." she whispers, crying. "Luka.."  
  
"Yes you can." I assure her. "Think of something you love, focus on that Abby."  
  
Watching as she again closes her eyes, the pain inside of me continues to build. I hate to watch her like this, knowing that I can do nothing to stop the pain she is feeling, that I can do nothing to take this disease out of her body. I want to know why God punishes her like he does. Abby has done nothing but helped others her whole life, and in return all she gets is more pain.   
  
Sitting here, I try to remember the good times we have had, some so recent I feel as if we should still be there, enjoying the company of each other. Having fun like we did last month, when I took her away to a cabin so we could be alone. There was no work, no need to wake up early, no need to worry.   
  
"Remember the cabin." I whisper softly as another nurse appears, moving close to the doctor who is pushing his hands down on Abby's back. "Do you remember the day that we arrived?" I ask, leaning in close to her, blowing soothingly on her skin.   
  
"And you dropped our suitcase in the mud?" she replies, opening her eyes again. The glassy look of them is making my own heart melt, the tears welding in the corners of her eyes as she sniffs back a sob. I begin staring at the wrinkles in her forehead, and the lines that become more apparent as she cringes.   
  
I feel myself nodding as I smile, remembering the mess I made as the suitcase hit the mud, splashing all over my shoes. Later that night, I can still remember the tub of ice cream we shared. Cookies and Cream, Abby's favorite. Sitting here, holding her hand, I can taste the ice cream in my mouth, picturing the way I spoon fed it to her as we sat in front of the fire, thinking of nothing but ice cream and an entire weekend alone together. I think that will be a memory that will be ingrained in my mind forever, it just remains so clear to me.   
  
"One more and we'll be finished." The doctor announces and Abby puts her head down, resting in on top of our hands as she continues to grip to me. "Try to keep still, it will be less painful."  
  
I want to hit this doctor. I have no idea who he is, I had never even heard of him before today, when Abby was wheeled into the room. He is showing no compassion at all for her, and I know this procedure must be torture. Abby does not cry, and when she does, it is for a good reason. I have seen her cry only three times since we have been together, though I know she must cry when I am not around. She cried when her mom was brought into the ER after she brought her from Oklahoma, she cried when we had a long talk about everything that was wrong in our relationship and she confessed to having an abortion. Then she cried for the third time for a reason I do not even know, she just burst into tears one day and said it was for no reason.   
  
The doctor is so cold; he has not tried to comfort Abby at all. His voice is mean and harsh; he is treating her like a child who will not sit still at the dinner table. I bet he would not be happy if somebody was sticking long needles into his spine and taking marrow from it. I bet he and his family would be crying too if they had cancer and would need chemotherapy and radiation. If they knew that the disease could kill them.  
  
"I can't do this." Abby whispers again, as her voice quivers and more tears fall onto my hands. Leaning into her as her head is still down, I kiss her hair, and squeeze her hands in my own.   
  
"Yes you can." I assure her, looking up to the doctor who is ready to remove the final needle. "You did it." I whisper.  
  
"Get these samples to the lab." He orders a nurse who has collected them in her hands. I watch as he writes his orders in Abby's chart and yanks his gloves off, along with his mask.   
  
"How long will those tests take?" I ask, as Abby lifts her head and I myself brush the tears that are staining her face. Pushing my forehead up against hers, I smile and wait for a response from the doctor who is busy dictating orders into a tape recorder. "You did great Abby." I whisper softly. "He is done."  
  
"The lab will run them, we should have the results by later tonight." He tells us, moving closer to us so he is looking Abby straight in the face. "We're going to move you to your own room where the nurse's will set you up. Then I'll be by later to talk ok?"  
  
Abby does not reply, but only nods as a nurse carries a new gown over for her. I watch as the doctor quickly turns and leaves the room, as if nothing has just taken place. I cannot believe how he acts; he does not even try to comfort her.   
  
"I will do this." I offer, taking the gown from the nurse, opening the back. "I am a doctor." I tell her, to which she only nods. "Get up very slow Abby." I tell her, as the nurse begins removing the drapes from her back. "Give me your hand."  
  
Helping Abby get off the table, I help her into the gown, being careful not to push against her back. As I tie the back, I can only cringe at the various black and blue marks that cover her body, only knowing deep down what those tests will tell us. I do not want to hear the results; I do not want to hear someone tell us Abby has cancer, that she could die.  
  
"Luka, don't leave." She whispers so quietly I can barely hear her. Walking around front again, I only put my hand on her shoulder and kiss her softly.   
  
"I would never leave you." I reply, nodding at her. "Ever."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
08/12/01   



	2. Hope Was Here- Part 2: Crashing In

*Hope Was Here- Part 2: Crashing In*   
By Kelly   
  
Disclaimer: ER and all of its characters are the property of NBC, Warner Brothers and everyone else involved with the show. I don't own them, and I don't make any money.   
  
Feedback is appreciated: DougandCarol@hotmail.com   
  
Notes: I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this yet. Does anyone have any suggestions? All are welcome.   
  
I'm basing all information regarding cancer in this story to treatments my cousin received and research I have done. I'm hoping it's as accurate as possible, but if not, send me and email and tell me if you know something is wrong.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
I always hated hospitals. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense doesn't it? Ever since I was little, each time my mom would get depressed or have an episode we would end up at the hospital. I grew to hate them with a passion. The smell you encounter every time you enter one, the carts that lined the halls, the way the people in them looked. I hate hospitals, but somehow I ended up working in one.   
  
But I'm not working in one now, now I'm a patient in one. I hate the ward I'm on more than I hate hospitals. Oncology. The way it sounds, the way it begins, the way it ends, I hate it. I went to med school and nursing school, I still don't get why it needs the fancy name. Oncology means cancer ward, why can't people just say cancer ward?   
  
Do they think Oncology makes it any less horrible or scary? People who think that should be forced to visit the ward and see what it's really like. They should see what I've gone through in the past week alone, what Luka's gone through.   
  
Luka. He's down the hall right now, fighting with my doctor. They fight just about everyday, I'm waiting for security to run and pull them apart. Though, even if that happened, I wouldn't be able to see it. I'm locked away, like a prisoner in jail. Jail, I'd rather be there than here. At least you're not expected to die in jail. Yeah, you're bound to get molested by someone of the same sex eventually. I'd rather be molested by a woman named Jerry with a cru cut.   
  
"Are you reading that?" a voice calls from next to me. Looking to the bed on the opposite side of the room, I look at the teenage girl who shares a room with me.   
  
"You can look at it." I reply, reaching for the magazine on the table beside us. Holding it out to her, I hear her whisper a thank you as she takes it and opens the first page.   
  
Her name's Heather and she's 15. We were talking last night after they admitted her. She was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia two years ago. She's been in remission for over a year but her cancer's back again.   
  
Right now I feel like ending it all. Maybe this disease will end it all; my chances aren't that great anyway. I'm not stupid, I'm a nurse. My doctor seems to forget that. Sure, I was an OB nurse and now I'm an ER nurse, that doesn't mean I don't know or understand leukemia.   
  
*****Flashback*****   
  
"We got the results." Dr. Hanks says, shutting the small exam room door behind him. "I need to speak with Abby alone." He says, eyeing me.   
  
"He can stay." Abby whispers, as I hold her hand tight.   
  
"Ok." He sighs, opening Abby's file. "We ran the marrow through the lab and the tests indicated that you've got AML." He tells us, looking back and forth between us. "Adult acute myeloid leukemia."   
  
As soon as the words pass his lips all I can do is wrap my arms around Abby who is frozen in her seat, unable to speak or respond. All she does is cry again, something she never does. I hold her tight as he tears drip from her face into my lap, staining my shirt and pants.   
  
Abby has leukemia, the tests must be wrong. She has always been healthy; she is the one who treats the people who are sick. There cannot be a disease that is invading her body, taking her life away.   
  
"What's the survival rate?" she whispers so softly I can barely hear her with my body wrapped around hers. I do not know how the other doctor understood her at all. Maybe it is my state of shock. My body is numb and my heart is down in my stomach.   
  
"If treated with chemotherapy or radiation, the five year survival is around fourteen percent." He informs us. "This is why it's crucial we get you in the hospital now to begin treatment as soon as we can."   
  
"Fourteen." I hear her whisper before she again buries her face into my shirt.   
  
Fourteen percent. That is like telling someone that they have a death sentence.   
  
Fourteen should not even be a number in situations like this. I wonder where the judge is; maybe God is the judge in this case. Hitting his large wooden mallet on a table, telling Abby that she will most likely die. But also saying that she cannot die right now, that she must first endure chemotherapy that will take all of her energy. Medication that will make her immune system too weak to be kept out of a private room where nobody but doctors and nurses are permitted, that will probably make her hair fall out and her body swell.   
  
"I'll have a nurse come in and start a new IV, and we can admit you tonight." The doctor continues, as his pager goes off. "Just wait here and she'll be right down."   
  
He turns his back to leave as I still have Abby wrapped in my arms. That is when her coughing begins, and I am suddenly covered in a warm substance that falls down the front of her shirt as she pulls away. It covers my shirt and the lap of my pants, along with her shirt and the area around us. The doctor turns as she begins coughing again, and more vomit escapes her body, trickling down the front of her.   
  
"Here." He offers, grabbing a nearby emesis basin and holding it out in front of her. "Let me go get the nurse to clean this up."   
  
Taking the basin into my own hands, I hold it for her and smooth her hair with my free hand. I run my hand up and down her dark hair, assuring her it is ok, I don't care that she has thrown up on me.   
  
"I'm sorry." She apologizes, her voice hoarse and cracking.   
  
"Abby, it's ok." I assure her as a nurse appears; wearing one of the fakest smiles I have ever seen. "Come on, we'll get you out of these clothes."   
  
****End Flashback****   
  
I'm supposed to begin chemotherapy tomorrow. I was scheduled to start two days ago but I developed a fever so they had to put it off. I don't know whether or not I'm glad I got that fever. It kept me from my new life, as I know it, my life of hell.   
  
Nobody knows the truth or the way I feel right now. The truth? I'm scared to death of what is happening to me, but I try not to let on. I keep my face calm and my attitude cool. Years of being a drunk can allow you to do that pretty well. They key is to focus and avoid eye contact, if you can do that, you can succeed.   
  
"Time to change your IV." My nurse announces as she bustles into the room with a smile plastered across her face. "Gotta keep your fluids going." She continues with an all too sweet voice that makes me want to lash out violently.   
  
What gives these people the right to act as if there's nothing wrong with me? Do they want me to be happy that I'm dying? Luka keeps telling me to stop thinking like that, that I won't die. He says having negative thoughts will do nothing but worry me more. Fuck positive thoughts and happy news. I developed an idea a long time ago that has worked all my life. If you always look at the worst aspect of something, things can only get better and can't get worse. Well, if I say I'm dying, I doubt anything worse could happen. Maybe they'll lose my body or something, big deal. Nobody would really miss it.   
  
"Ok, did the doctor come in and tell you what's going on tomorrow?" she asked, adjusting the setting of a wire that feeds into my arm. Her southern accent is really irritating right now. I know she means well, but I'm not in the mood right now.   
  
"He's down talking with Luka now." I reply with a small sigh, pressing my body back into my pillow. Moving my arm from its place, I catch another glimpse of one of my bruises. It's big and black, and it's bigger than a quarter. I can't stand to look at my body anymore, seeing them covering me all over.   
  
"Who's Luka?" she replies, shutting the curtain, and moving a dying bouquet of flowers.   
  
"Abby's boyfriend." Heather offers, looking up from the magazine I gave her.   
  
"Oh." She replies shortly, with a smile. "Well I'll make sure the doctor stops by before lights out and tells you everything, ok?"   
  
"Yeah." I reply, really not caring one way or the other if the doctor stops by.   
  
"Lights out in an hour Heather." The nurse calls one last time, before exiting the room, allowing the door to click loudly behind her.   
  
"Whatever." I hear her mumble from besides me, and I turn quickly to look at her. I don't know how she's been dealing with this for as long as she has. Two years seems like an eternity to be shot with drugs, kept in isolation, and deal with everything else. I hate being on this side of the medicine. My entire career, I've been the one who was there when good or bad news was given. I was the nurse expected to offer that shoulder to cry on when something bad happened, or the nurse that was thanked when a family left with a new baby.   
  
Now I get the bad news, and now I realize just what those people go through everyday downstairs. Now I realize why they cry and carry on the way that they do. Now I understand why they're scared.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
"We're going to keep the chemo going over the next 48 hours." Dr. Hanks continues, as he stares at me under my new tent. "The Anthracycline, which is a class of Idarubicin and Daunorubicin has been found to be very successful in the treatment of other AML patients."   
  
Well gee doc, thanks for the comforting words. I know that Luka is ready to beat this guy as hard as he can, and after the past few days, I'm more than ready to sit and watch myself. We could set up a ring down in the ER; we'll just move the chairs out of the waiting area for awhile. Get a couple of bungee cords to act as barriers and we'd be set. I bet I could make a small fortune by selling tickets, especially if I convinced Luka to take his shirt off while they fought. Haleh and Lydia would be first in line, I could guarantee that.   
  
"And what happens after the 48 hours?" Luka asks, looking straight at my blond hair doctor.   
  
"After the 48 hours is up, we'll keep Abby here in the isolation room for an additional 24 hours. Once that's over, we'll be moving her back to a normal room on the oncology ward, and she'll stay there until we're ready to discharge her."   
  
I'm so glad people around here talk to me. Maybe I'm invisible, that's how they act. Everyone talks about me right in front of my face, and they aren't too shy to say anything. I heard tow nurses whispering about me last night and how I looked like I could use a haircut. Excuse me for missing my appointment at Vidal Sassoon. I'm busy being stuck in this hospital gown and room, chewing my fingernails so low I'm bound to reach my knuckles soon.   
  
"We'll keep you on a steady drip for now and see how you react, ok?" he asks, actually talking to me this time.   
  
"Ok." Is all I reply, avoiding eye contact with the doctor at all costs.   
  
I hate it here, I hate this bed, and I hate this gown. I hate my body, I hate myself and everything involved with me. I hate my hair and my feet; I hate my clothes and my nose. I can't stand thinking about my job or the rest of my life. Right now I hate everything and everyone. I hate my mother, I hate Eric, I hate all my friends, and I hate Luka. I hate them all for being involved with me, and I hate myself for being associated with them in any way.   
  
I can see the bag that holds the drugs that are going to make me sicker than I can probably imagine and make my hair fall out. The liquid is clear and looks like the saline we use in normal IV's. But this isn't saline, these are toxic chemicals.   
  
My body feeds off of toxic chemicals, maybe this will help. I used to live with alcohol running through my veins and pouring out of my pores, as I would sweat. I have nicotine that I feed off of every time I smoke a cigarette. It pulses through my veins with each heartbeat, allowing me to react and think clearly, to feel good.   
  
Too bad you can't cure cancer with cigarettes, you can only cause it. I'd be cured within a few weeks if that were the case and life could go back to normal. Or, it could go back to as normal as it's ever been. But that's just another wish I have, another wish that will never come true.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Luka's sleeping in a chair across the room and he really looks pathetic right now. His shoes are sitting on the floor next to him and he's got a sock on his left foot, but his right foot is bare and I cannot see the other sock anywhere. That's got to be one of the things that continually irritates me about him. He insists on wearing socks to bed, and he doesn't seem to care if he's wearing socks with holes in them. How can he do that? Then, one of his legs is folded over the other, but his head is hanging so is face is looking toward the ceiling. Plus, his mouth is open and he keeps letting these short snorts out every few minutes, which cause his body to shake.   
  
I can't even tell what time it is, there's no clock in the room. How convenient, they don't want me to know how many hours of my hell I have left. It's dark outside; I know that much, and I haven't heard an ambulance siren for awhile. It's almost too quiet, it's quiet like death.   
  
Staring ahead into the dark room, I can hear myself swallow, and turn to look at my IV that's dripping the chemo into my body. Fast drops trickling down the clear tubing and into my skin. My stomach's turning in circles, it reminds me of the feeling I had when I went on a roller coaster in college. Up and down and over and around, I cannot see the pleasure people get out of doing that. The doctor gave me what could possibly be the largest emesis basin in the world; it looks like a frekin pot.   
  
The plastic curtain my bed is zipped up in seems to be fogging up, though from the way I feel it's probably just the way I think it is. They wouldn't stick me in here if I were going to fog it up. Isolation, that what they put me in.   
  
"The chemotherapy weakens your body's immune system and leaves you susceptible to picking up and germ that could possibly be around. So we're going to keep you in isolation for the next three days to try and keep the risk down."   
  
Dr. Dolittle tells me that and then they shove me in here. The room is the size of a doghouse and I'm wrapped in plastic that looks like it would hold a new bed comforter. Nobody is allowed to touch me unless they're dressed in scrubs, a gown and a mask, with gloves on their hands. This one nurse touches me like I have the Ebola virus and am looking to pass it to her.   
  
"Abby?" Luka calls in a groggy voice.   
  
Looking over at him, he looks like he's still sleeping; only now he's watching me. He hasn't shaved in days and he hasn't changed his clothes either. I don't know how, but Dr. Weaver keeps giving him days off, and he refuses to go back to our apartment and change.   
  
"What?" I reply, lifting my head from my pillow. As soon as I do, my stomach lurches and the room begins spinning. Then, before I know what's happening my head's back against the pillow and my eyes are closed.   
  
"Are you ok?" he asked, getting to his feet and walking besides my plastic cave. Why won't he put his other sock on?   
  
"I'm fine Luka." I sigh, closing my eyes in an attempt to make the nausea go away.   
  
I'm spinning in circles and I can't stop. Well, my stomach is at least. Over and over, I can feel the eggs they made me eat before turning over and inside out. I want off this roller coaster right now. Press on the brake, I don't care how damn high I am, just let me off, now.   
  
"Do you want more juice?' he asks, looking at the empty carton that was left on my tray. "Do you want me to get the doctor?"   
  
"No."   
  
At least he's not trying to play doctor for me. That's the last thing I need is my boyfriend acting as my doctor. If this were the flu or something simple like that I know Luka would be poking me with needles and drowning me in fluids and soup. But Luka doesn't know cancer any better than I do. He doesn't specialize in this field of medicine; I don't see how you could want to specialize in Oncology. I know these doctors want to help people like, people like me. But they have to watch them suffer too.   
  
What the hell am I talking about? I watch people suffer everyday. At least I did up until this happened. I would go to work, pull on those hideous blue scrubs, and prance around helping sick people. I'd clean their cuts, wipe the vomit from their mouths, listen to the endless whining of how much they hurt or how much they wanted to kill someone who had done something to them twenty years earlier. I would literally stand there and watch people die. And half of those people were too young to die; some hadn't even gotten a chance to live.   
  
"Do you want me to rub your feet?" he asks with a small grin on his face.   
  
"Through the hefty bag?" I reply, shaking my head. "Luka, go back to sleep. Go home and sleep."   
  
"I'm not going home." He replies, pulling the chair up next to the bed. "And I just woke up, I do not need to go back to sleep."   
  
"You look like the walking dead."   
  
"I'll take a shower later."   
  
"At home?"   
  
"No, I'll use the locker room." He continues, tracing his fingers along a seam of the plastic.   
  
"Go home." I sigh, pulling my blanket up over my chest. This room is freezing.   
  
"I'm staying here."   
  
Now I know what parents are talking about when they say they feel like they're talking to a wall. Luka's a pile of cemented bricks.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Carter came by before with some stupid stuffed whale he found in the gift shop. He told me that he named it Kiki on his way up in the elevator. What kind of name is Kiki and why do gift shops sell stuffed whales? What happened to bears? Anyway, now it's sitting on the table next to my bed and he's over by the window, pacing back and forth in his white lab coat.   
  
"Luka said they're letting you out on Friday." He says, turning to face me.   
  
"Yeah, as long as I don't have a bad reaction to the chemo." I mumble back, pressing buttons on the TV remote that hasn't worked since they moved me into this room three days ago. Oprah's on the TV right now, though the nurse muted it the last time she came in. She's trying to save the world again, helping to guide people and find their souls. If I had Oprah's pay check, I'd be paying people to fix these problems, and leave me alone.   
  
"How about when you're up to it, me and you go have dinner." He suggests, holding his stethoscope around his neck.   
  
"Carter.." I sigh, pulling the back off of the remote.   
  
"You know what I mean." He teases as his beeper goes off. "It's the ER." He sighs. "Come on." He says with a laugh as he turns to leave. "Me, you, Doc Magoo's. It'll be two friends, burnt coffee and greasy burgers."   
  
I really want to laugh right now. I want to open my mouth and hear the laughter as it escapes my body. I want to feel my stomach tighten the way it used to when I would laugh too hard. Like when Luka and Dr. Greene got locket in a janitorial closet for half of their shift and Dr. Weaver went on a rampage. But all I can do is offer him a weak smile.   
  
"Yeah, ok." I finally agree as he hurries from the room, leaving me alone.   
  
Luka finally went home before to re-humanize himself. He only went though because he has to work tonight, it's going to take him hours to get cleaned up and look like a doctor again. He was starting to look like he was homeless.   
  
I can hear the rain that's falling outside. This morning, the sun was out and there were no clouds in the sky. Now the sky is black and rain is pouring. Every few minutes I can hear the thunder rumble, getting louder and it gets closer. Then the lightening flickers and reflects off the wall. The weather outside fits my mood in here in one word. Crappy.   
  
I think I'm claustrophobic. The walls of this room feel as if they're closing in on me and are going to collapse. The ceiling is dropping right on top of me, and every time I close my eyes I can feel the paint chips and plaster falling on me.   
  
I want to go home.   
  
~*~*~*   
  
11/02/01


End file.
